The Nova Crucible
by Killjoy Queen
Summary: Revenge can be sweet, but is it worth exacting on someone you once would have died for? Maris Brood/ Anakin Skywalker fic. Set in two timeframes: during the Clone Wars and then a few years after Order 66. Rated as a precaution.
1. Prologue

_I am a killer. It is ingrained into every part of me. It's all I know, except for my drive for revenge. _

_To kill __**him**__, however, is my greatest objective and fantasy. _

_I __**crave**__ it. I crave to slice him, to hear his screams; even to taste his blood. These are the things I live for- and to give him the comeuppance he has evaded for so long. Yet, through all of these horrible desires; I have not met him. Nor have I seen him._

_I only know his name. It is a name I hear in my dreams; nearly every single night. He is many things to me- many things. A destroyer and a murderer. The Lord of the Sith. The Master of Galen Marek; the man who left me for dead on my previous home, Felucia, not all that long ago. _

_**He is Darth Vader.**_

_And, he has taken everything from me. My Masters, my home, my pride- even my bond with the Force. For when Shaak Ti was lost to me, so was everything else. Losing my old Master was bad enough. Padawan or not, one can only contain so much hate. Now, I am a child of the __**Dark Side**__- as I was always destined to be._

_But I am nothing like him. He kills for the sake of killing and trains others like his dog, Marek, to do his bidding. I kill to live. And, once I kill him, I won't have to bother going on anymore. I know this and I know this well. I have seen and lived through far too much to bother myself with the sentimentalities of having a family, or other such things. Why should I, after all, when I never had a real family to begin with? _

_I am close to finding him; so close, in fact, that I can almost taste it. It is a sweet taste, which provides a mixture of determination and euphoria to drive me. Twenty four hours, I expect, is all it will take for me to arrive at my destination. It is a timespan which I embrace and loathe at the same time.  
_

_It will be a heavily guarded fortress. This I am certain of; but I will find a way in, nevertheless. I had to break many fingers and end many lives to get the design blueprints, so I ought to know. I am wanted by both sides of this Civil War, in fact, for what I have done. The Republic wish to execute me for kidnapping one of their precious Senators; whereas the Empire just want to destroy me for being, well... __**me**__. _

_This suits me fine; for I don't intend to escape. Once I enter that place, I know that no matter what happens to me; they will never, ever let me go alive. This makes no difference to me either; for what is the point of living such an unwholesome existence, when nobody wants you at all?_

_I thought somebody did, once. I don't remember his name- though I wish I could. It hangs over me; a memory almost forgotten, but not yet lost. His identity is always on the tip of my tongue, but I can never quite find it. That's the thing, when you embrace the Dark Side. You don't remember an awful lot about who you used to be and it eats at you, every day. _

_Perhaps it's a comforting thought that I made up. Perhaps not. Either way, it is currently insignificant- for I cannot let my chance slip, this time. _

_**Tonight, I shall have my vengeance.**_

_**

* * *

**_**A/N: I'm probably going to be updating this once or twice per week, as I have another story I'm working on. Sorry if this is annoying, but the 'proper' chapters will be longer than this, I promise :')  
**


	2. Chapter 1

Maris Brood sat in the medichamber, alone. It wasn't really a medichamber- after all, only she and her Master were the residents of their ship and neither of them had been injured (as of yet, anyway). Having time for herself was never a problem in the company of her Master; for he too appreciated and respected her need for space. Dum'aat Raine, her Master, had raised Maris aboard the aptly-named Gray Pilgrim ever since she could remember and the both of them lived with each other in harmony. He had taught Maris the ways of the Force and she had been his Padawan for nearly eighteen years.

_Eighteen years. _It seemed an eternity but, at the same time, not at all. Although Master Raine was always good company, she had met and experienced very few others; excepting times they had to refuel or make emergency stops on planets. Being young and as impatient as she was, this wasn't enough to satisfy her need for adventure. But, if she ever told Master Raine she felt as such, he would always laugh at her and tell her that she was 'Too Young To Rush Her Life'. Impatience was Maris' most irritating yet energising trait and it urged her constantly to quench her curiosities.

Maris closed her eyes, focusing her core on the tableful of smooth ball bearings across the room. It wasn't exactly practice or anything, but it was something she did to calm her mind that worked more often than not. She lifted six or seven out from the liquid-like pile and started to spin them in the air mindlessly.

She was bored. So amazingly bored. Looping the bearings round to form dancing spirals, Maris tried to reflect back on her teachings and her Master's tales . She remembered him telling her about the Jedi Temple- and felt herself smiling at the memories.

_Maybe __**Bothan**__ Jedi can cope with loneliness, but what about me?_

Maris sighed, dropping the bearings to the floor. Thinking such thoughts made her guilt bubble and froth over inside. How could she think such things, or complain to herself as she was? Master Raine had been her life. He was like a father to her- the only real father she'd ever had, anyway. Surely it was selfish to want more than the vast amount that he'd already so freely given to her?

She wanted so much to see the temple, though; she really did. To see the great cities, as well- and everything else in between. Maris and Dum'aat Raine had been distant for so long- too long, really. The Council barely ever contacted them anymore. She supposed that she couldn't blame them; after all, things didn't really change aboard the Gray Pilgrim, no sir-

Maris raised an eyebrow, embarrassed that she hadn't noticed his presence sooner. She heard her Master chuckle as she did. She wondered how long he had been there- or worse, how long he'd been reading her thoughts.

"How long have you been watching me, Master?" she asked, opening one eye. Dum'aat smiled and scratched his hairy neck.

"Lovely," she added sarcastically.

"It's nice to know that you have all these plans for adventure ahead," he replied lightheartedly, ignoring her last comment. Maris felt herself going red.

_Damn._

"I didn't mean-" she began in explanation, but Master Raine held up a hand.

"It's fine. Only natural, young Padawan, that you should want to explore. I was the same at your age, after all."

Maris shrugged, looking sheepish. She didn't know what to say, really. Although she was still somewhat annoyed at him for reading her mind (which he did absurdly well, despite the fact that he'd told her on numerous occasions that he could only do so if the person's thoughts were strong), she was absurdly appreciative of him for being understanding.

"Is there any reason why you've come to tease me, Master?" Maris said, with playful sarcasm.

"As a matter of fact, yes," he replied, picking a ball bearing up from the floor, "we've got a transmission."

Maris groaned, perhaps a little too loudly to be tasteful. She couldn't _stand_ getting transmissions. They were always a constant disappointment; like Jawa juice advertisements ('The Fresh Desert Dry') or the odd fake distress transmission made by bored kids on nearby systems, to name but a couple. They were never-

"From the Jedi Council," her Master added, throwing the bearing towards her. It bounced off one of Maris' horns and settled on the stretcher beside her. She grunted in pain, rubbing it gingerly.

"Ouch."

"You should have caught it," Dum'aat replied, cheerfully. Maris glared at him, but he ignored that too.

"I've not accepted it yet," he added, rolling his eyes in mock sarcasm, "as I wanted you to come in and share it with me. But, considering your reflexes are so off today, you obviously _can't_ be wasting your time doing such things when you could be practicing, young Zabrak."

Maris rolled her eyes in response, picked up two ball bearings and threw them at him. They stopped in front of his face a millimetre in front of his eyes; hovering soundlessly in midair.

"Test me," she told him, smirking. Dum'aat liked being challenged, so she knew he wouldn't refuse.

"As you wish."

For a few seconds, Dum'aat didn't move- his eyes locked on to Maris' own. She knew what he was doing though- it was an old trap of his which she'd seen a thousand times. Bait, which then led to being struck from behind. And, sure enough, Dum'aat's eye twitched; three bearings shooting from behind her along with the two from the front. She stopped all five and brought them into view; spinning them around in an easy circle.

"Not bad," Master Raine remarked, "you're getting much better these days, my young Apprentice."

A loud, annoyed-sounding beep cut through the conversation from the main hangar, where the main communications hub was. The two of them scurried off to meet the call, which turned out to be from a somewhat worried looking Ki-Adi-Mundi. This was extremely strange; as Master Mundi tended to have very little time on his hands to communicate to anyone at all; especially a long forgotten duo such as themselves in the outer rim. The two of them usually received communications from 'lesser' figures or even Padawans; so Maris figured that it must be something relatively dire, or significant. She didn't know whether to feel excited, flattered or scared; so she did her best, to avoid looking like a fool, to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"Greetings, Master Mundi," Master Raine said, whilst trying very hard to look tall, "what news do you bring from the Council? Assuming that's the reason for this transmission, of course."

Master Mundi sighed. He looked exceptionally tired, which was also odd; considering he was generally on the pinnacle of health. Maris found herself becoming gradually more uneasy as the moments ticked by and she disliked it immensely.

"I'm afraid so," Master Mundi replied in earnest, "I assume that you've been given details of current events up to this point?"

"Well, there was a transmission not all that long ago about there being some kind of 'Clone Army', or something. That's all we know, though."

Even so, that had only been a couple of months ago and had been shocking enough. Maris found herself wondering whether Master Sifo-Dyas had left any _other_ surprises that they'd be the last to know about. What drastic things could possibly have happened since then?

Master Mundi looked immediately guilty. "I deeply apologise for not ensuring that you have been kept in the full circle, Master Jedi."

Master Raine shrugged, looking slightly pale. Maris put her hand on his shoulder; feeling how tense he was. She wasn't used to it- her Master was usually very calm and collected in his emotions. Perhaps he was feeling something in the Force that was making him uncomfortable; but she was usually good at sensing such things as well. Neither of them, however, were expecting what Master Mundi was about to say next.

"We are at war," continued Master Mundi, sadly.

_Famous last words_, Maris thought, amazed at her own ignorance. Dum'aat's eyes widened.

"What happened?"

"The Separatists have turned against us completely," he replied, "and it is indeed looking, I'm afraid, that we can no longer use diplomacy as an option, so we need all the arms that we can get."

Dum'aat gulped; his furry Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"What should we do?"

"Come to Coruscant immediately, with your Padawan," Master Mundi replied, "Master Obi-Wan will meet you both. We will decide on the best course of action from there."

"Understood."

Master Mundi's eyes swivelled to Maris' own. She smiled politely in reply, even though her heart was pounding. He looked happier, to her relief.

"Master Raine has told me much about you, young Apprentice," said Master Mundi, his picture flickering a little from the ill-repair of their communications satellite, "I trust that you will be a valuable asset in the grave times ahead."

_Has he told him much about me_? Maris thought dumbfoundedly. She'd had no idea; having been under the impression that they hadn't spoken in ages. However, she nodded regardless and knelt down before the scrambling image in respect.

"I will do what is required of me, Master."

Ki-Adi-Mundi chuckled, his glace swivelling back to Dum'aat's.

"It is unfortunate that the time of our meeting could not be a more cheerful one, but nevertheless, I indeed look forward to it."

With that, the communication ceased with a flat buzzing sound; leaving the two of them staring at a vast, cosmic horizon of converging stars. The Pilgrim mightn't have been much to look at, but for a ship, it was fast.

Maris exhaled; her breath releasing in a soft gasp. She couldn't actually believe how little she knew. How long had the war been going on without their knowledge? She couldn't help feeling just a little bit annoyed at the lack of information they'd been given. Sure, she hadn't expected to be at the top of _anyone's_ list of priorities, but still-

"Calm down, Maris Brood," said Master Raine, his original calm returning, "there is a reason for everything."

Maris lowered her eyes to the floor, feeling embarrassed again. God, that was getting annoying.

"Yes, Master."

"Besides," he added, a playful tone in his voice, "I thought you wanted an adventure? I don't know about you, but even though it's a war; I'm pretty excited about breaking the monotony we've got around here."

"Gee, thanks," Maris replied with a snort, to which he laughed.

"Oh, lighten up."

She had to admit, that when he started punching in the coordinates for their destination, the adrenaline in her veins was going pretty hard. Yes, indeed it was a welcome change.

* * *

**A/N: As Maris Brood's real Master remains unnamed, I invented Dum'aat for her :)**


	3. Chapter 2

Anakin Skywalker flinched as the medical droid repaired his mechanical hand. He had lost it recently in a duel with Count Dooku and it was proving to be a constant nuisance. The memory made him sick with the recollection of the pain and humiliation he had suffered. Almost equally as bad, his mechanical hand proved to be much less effective than the one he had lost and sorely missed (ha ha), as it kept stiffening up during training for no reason at all. This, much to his unappreciation, generally sent his Master into peals of laughter when he watched him fight with it. Obi-Wan was, after all, never known for his sensitivity.

_Outsmarted by a hand_, Anakin thought, annoyed, as a hot spark flew off and brushed his chin. He jumped, trying not to swear with the pain. The droid paused from its work and turned its visual sensors upon him.

"Sir," it told him, in a tone that was legible as irritable even for a droid, "please keep still. It will take longer if you move."

Anakin thought about arguing back and telling the droid that it should be more careful with its handiwork, but thought better of it. After all, his Master was in the next room and, if he were to catch Anakin arguing with a droid, he would never hear the last of it. He tended to find a lot of things about Anakin amusing and it aggravated him to no end.

He wished he was back on Naboo, with Padmé. He was getting sick of Coruscant already; with its stupidly high population, noise and smoke. Anakin had never really been a people person and he was in the worst possible place to get away from them. He had no time to himself, at all. If he wasn't being troubled by younger Padawan asking him questions, he was sparring with his Master, eating, sleeping or spending hours helping with the Jedi Council's battle plans. He would have died to do all of that as a kid, sure- but now, he was under regular stress. Tatooine didn't seem so boring anymore. He'd have been happy to blast a couple of womp rats to pass the time, or something- anything- similar to that, just for a change.

Anakin smiled at the idea as the droid made a few clicking noises, but his thoughts of Tatooine had begun to bring up more painful memories. Inevitably, they turned to his mother and, Anakin sighed wistfully. It wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be, controlling his emotions- and that had never changed throughout the ten years or so he'd been a Padawan. He missed Padmé and his mother terribly- and, although he knew it was human- it made him feel like such a kid.

A couple more sparks later and the droid finished, giving him the usual lecture about 'Taking it Easy whilst Sparring'. He rolled his eyes at the drone and got up.

_Great_, he thought as he left, _even the robot thinks I can't do things for myself_.

He left without thanking the droid, which made a whirring noise implying something along the lines of a sarcastic 'I suppose you're welcome then', or a similar sort of expression. Anakin wasn't in the mood to rectify himself, or to generally do anything at all. As he had expected, he was greeted outside by a bemused looking Obi-Wan, leaning against the wall.

"I suppose you're here to laugh at me then?" Anakin asked dryly. Obi-Wan chuckled at the comment and sighed, briefly.

"You're in a foul mood today," Master Kenobi replied, "Why so glum?"

Anakin shrugged stubbornly. The childishness he'd gained in the medibay had not faltered yet. He leant against the wall, sulking a little. He knew it wasn't fair of him to accuse Obi-Wan of simply waiting around to laugh at him. Sure, it might have been a partial reason, but Anakin knew full well that his Master did genuinely care for him and it wasn't exactly fair of him to unleash a torrent of hormone-fuelled angst on his Master. So, he tried to brighten up a little.

"Anything incredibly _exciting_ happening today then, Master?" Anakin asked, scratching the back of his neck with his newly-fixed hand. His sarcasm was supposed to be good humoured- or at least, he hoped it sounded so.

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin in admiration. Things had been extraordinarily difficult for him the past few months. He wished he could empathise more, but he felt himself unable to think of anything truly comforting.

_After all_, Obi-Wan thought, whilst looking at his Padawan, _what use is a father figure if they can't relate to how the person who supposedly looks up to them feels?_

Conceptually, Obi-Wan's reasoning seemed slightly arrogant and presumptuous, but due to the fact that he had known Anakin for the best part of his adult life, it was circumstantially reasonable (and it wouldn't have been unfair of him to have distributed some of the cockiness in their relationship on Anakin's part). Anakin wasn't all arrogant and moody though- sometimes, he could be incredibly caring, good humoured and clever, when he wasn't off rushing things by not using his head.

"Not really," replied Master Kenobi after a little thought, "well... there are some new Jedi coming in to join the main fight today that we're supposed to meet, if you'd consider that exciting."

A look crossed Anakin's features at the news. Obi-Wan knew what the look meant and it was a look that he disliked; for it disgruntled and uneased him. It was a look that said something along the lines of bring-on-the-fresh-meat, or show-off-time; things like that. His breath left him in a low whistle which tickled the hairs of his beard (which was now desperately in need of trimming). Today was going to be more draining than he previously thought. He felt guilty about feeling that way, to an extent, as one of the Jedi arriving was an old friend of his who he hadn't seen in a while- a _very_ long while indeed. He hoped to God that Anakin wasn't going to make a show of them both in front of him.

"What are they like?" Anakin asked casually; a demanding nature underneath.

"Nice, apparently," he said, "One of them's an old friend. Did I ever tell you about Master Raine?"

"No, you haven't."

Obi-Wan smiled and tried to reminisce for a short moment; searching his brain for a good story to tell. He wondered how Master Raine was keeping these days. He didn't doubt that he was as skilled as ever. Most Bothans weren't looked at twice, but that was a mistake that could prove fatal extremely quickly with Master Raine. Dum'aat may not have looked it, but he was extremely fast and stealthy.

"Around 28 or 29 years ago, when I was very young, Dum'aat Raine and I got sent to an exploration mission on Aaris III. It hadn't been expected to be a difficult mission, as although the planet was covered in vast jungles, it hadn't been sensed as particularly dangerous- hence why the council had entrusted such a duty to a youngling. On hindsight, I think whoever came to that conclusion must have been extremely blind; because when we got down there, half a million things wanted to eat us, kill us or both. Our landing had been rough due to massive turbulences in the atmosphere, so our ship crashed and was damaged."

Anakin's eyes widened with youthful fascination. "What happened?"

"Well, we had to repair it," Obi-Wan replied in a matter-of-fact tone, "but it took us three weeks, because the damage was terrible and our Engineering skills combined were about as good as Gardulla the Hutt's breathmints. We had to battle off predators virtually every hour of every day as one of us tried their hand on the ship at a time."

Anakin let out a snort. He couldn't help himself, or resist what he was about to say.

"That's too bad, Master," he cut in smugly, "Had I been there, I could have fixed it in no time."

"Well," Obi-Wan replied, with a grin, "too bad that the galaxy hadn't been blessed back then by your very presence, young Padawan."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Obi-Wan, unfortunately for Anakin, was laughing too hard at his own wit to answer him.

* * *

The journey to Coruscant had proved to be somewhat arduous for Maris Brood and Dum'aat Raine. This was for several reasons, but mostly because that the both of them had been drifting through space for so long, they weren't used to piloting the ship on any course more difficult than simply empty space, or to nearby planets. Their path to Coruscant took them straight through an asteroid belt and even the Pilgrim's autopilot, which usually worked without fail, had some trouble knowing where to go. They could have gone around the long way of course, but neither of them had the patience. Maris herself was, quite frankly, tired of long, endless space on a constant basis, but this meant that both she and Dum'aat had to lie fairly low for an hour or two completely on edge.

However, after about half an hour, they both regretted their decision immensely. Every time an asteroid had bombarded the Pilgrim's slivery outer exterior, it made Maris jump and, on the fairly infrequent occasion the autopilot took them so close to a planetoid-sized asteroid that she thought they were going to crash, she actually screamed out loud. Master Raine gave her a look between bewilderment and exhaustion at one of her outbursts and she helplessly felt foolish, but was equally unable to stop herself from doing it, either.

A number of proclamations of imminent death later, Maris took a deep breath to get a hold of herself and switched to manual control. She hadn't piloted in a while, not since using the Kessel run as a shortcut about a year ago and _that_ had been scary enough. Around the Kessel system was a _massive_ maw of black holes- and they had cut so close to them when Maris had been piloting that they had almost fallen into an event horizon. Master Raine had almost died of fright, but in all fairness to her, they _hadn't_ become an accretion disc in the end, so what did he really have to complain about?

Dum'aat had been afraid before during the asteroid belt navigation, but now he was actually white under his fur at the sight of her at the controls. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes sarcastically. Honestly, that little faith after only a teeny-weeny (big) mistake? She was kidding herself, of course, but out of the both of them, hard as it was to believe, she was the better pilot.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Master Raine asked, looking rather uneasy.

Maris shrugged, smiling. "At least there's _less_ of a chance we'll die. I think the probability of 'very likely' seems better than 'almost certainly'."

Master Raine was very tempted to tell her that it was the other way round, but he kept his mouth shut. Maris was young and highly irritable when annoyed; due to a wonderful combination of hormones and her natural stubbornness. He wouldn't have usually cared because they were comfortable around each other, but it was never a great idea to have a pilot going through a vicious asteroid field whilst highly-strung; especially if they yelled at you, weren't paying attention and crashed into a large rock of some kind. So, fairly sensibly, he nodded and stayed quiet. Keeping his mouth shut in such a state of affairs was probably for the best, anyway- he felt as if he was going to be sick.


	4. Chapter 3

Coruscant was, to Maris, a place of the likes of which she could have never imagined. The closest she had ever gotten to a settlement resembling a city was Mos Espa on Tatooine, where her and her Master often went to view the annual Boonta Eve Classic, or to settle some unfinished business between gangsters and the 'more innocent' commonfolk. It was a slimy place really, considering that some people called it the 'driest' region in the universe and had it not been for the races (which she admitted she enjoyed as a slightly guilty pleasure) she'd have avoided it altogether. Dum'aat had not given her avid, descriptive details about where she was going, so she had formulated pictures in her somewhat creative imagination as to what exactly the place would be like. They had not consisted of the concept of an entire city completely dominating every square inch of land. Her Master had laughed at her face, mouth open as wide as her jaw would lax, as they docked in the surprisingly small (which she found ironic) port belonging to what she assumed, considering its impressive, rather more classic architecture, was the Jedi Temple.

Her insides rose with excitement, but then deflated. Despite the overwhelming odds against it, in the end, much to the relief of Maris and her Master, the Pilgrim had managed to escape relatively unharmed. Well, _relatively_ meaning that it had suffered a fair amount of external scuffing, but otherwise, no internal hardware damage that had been rendered as _particularly_ dangerous. This wouldn't have usually mattered as the Gray Pilgrim wasn't exactly a pretty ship anyway, but Maris cringed at the thought of them judging her on her piloting skills. Although it wasn't exactly her fault, Dum'aat had vomited twice due to her flight trajectory through the asteroids consisting of major swerves and non-uniform, jolty bursts of speed. She figured that he'd be holding a grudge against her for a good long while, at least; but he had calmed down surprisingly when they broke free of the field and their speed had settled to one of smooth uniformity controlled by the autopilot. The remainder of their journey afterward had taken around two hours, which, due to the excitement and joy of being alive that, at the current moment, Dum'aat and Maris had; had seemed unnecessarily long. Although Dum'aat had yelled several times during Maris' somewhat dodgy (although, as she pointed out to him, _effective_) piloting that he would never, ever, Force be praised (or words of a somewhat sharper nature) get into a moving craft when Maris was piloting again; he had actually found it somewhat exhilarating- although he wasn't sure whether or not this was a particularly good thing. He did not, however, as he was a teacher, tell Maris this (although she would have appreciated it an awful lot if he had) and he criticised her for the rest of the voyage until she felt her horns were going to fall out.

They exited the craft in silence- pretending to be mad at each other to prove a point, but in reality they weren't really at all. Maris was more focussed on how she could actually _breathe_ on the planet. She figured that they must have some means of controlling pollution and replacing oxygen in the atmosphere. If they did, it was damn efficient. She inhaled a burst of welcomingly fresh air and felt giddy with the rush. Dum'aat had closed his eyes next to her, his face locked in concentration. He looked as if he was doing the same, or searching for something. Maris was stubborn but mature, so eventually, after a minute of standing around and doing nothing, she gave in.

"_All right_!" she exclaimed, exasperated, "I'm _sorry_. Now, could you please tell me what we're doing? I mean c-"

But Master Raine cut her off using a hand to silence her. It was a hand movement that she had seen a million times before and meant something along the lines of hush-down-Maris-Brood-I'm-doing-something-important. Something more important than anything she had to say, anyway. She exhaled the fresh air she'd taken in sourly, but remained quiet. Dum'aat's brow muscle raised up a little, giving him the impression of wide eyes behind his closed lids. She was rather curious as to exactly _why_ this was important, but, as it turned out, she didn't have to wait long. He let out a sudden cry of excitement and rushed towards the landing bay doors. Maris was not used to seeing her Master act like an eager child and she immediately started to run after him confusedly.

"Master!" Maris cried, "What is going-"

But he stopped right in front of her so abruptly that when she tried to halt, her legs still carried her forward. She let out a cry of shock when she fell forward, right into Dum'aat and_ he_ cried out when the both of them tumbled over onto the floor in a messy tangle of limbs. Maris tried to get up but yelped in pain when she tried. Her arm was stuck under his lower back- and he was rather heavy.

_Oh God_, she thought, exaggerating wildly, _My arm's broken! What use will I be now?_

"Oh, thanks," Master Raine said, sarcastically, "That's lovely of you to say. Fat, am I? So, _now _the truth comes out..."

"I didn't _say_ anything," Maris yelled, trying her hardest to pull her arm out from under him, "Maybe if you stopped reading my mind, you wouldn't be so annoyed at me!"

A green thing in front of them that they had both been too busy arguing to notice cleared its throat, causing them to freeze mid-fistfight.

"Master Raine," it said, a smile on its wrinkly features, "Sensed you before, I did. Problems, do you have? "

The creature was wrinkled, green and old; with white hair, pointy ears and pruned skin like that of bad fruit. But he was a familiar creature that was recognisable to any Jedi in the entire galaxy. A face that Maris had seen very rarely but whose image, over the years that she had known of him, had never diminished in the slightest at all. She felt astoundingly honoured, underneath the intense embarrassment she was feeling at making such a ridiculous entrance, at the fact that he had come to greet them. Both Maris and Dum'aat thankfully, in that instant, found means of movement and sprang apart, like a couple of like charges and immediately bowed; faces red as wine and focussed on the floor in front of them. Maris wanted to say something, apologise perhaps, but she felt she had no place to. It would be far more sensible to stay quiet.

"We apologise, Grand Master Yoda," Master Raine said quietly, "Please forgive our somewhat unorthodox entrance."

Maris heard Yoda chuckle and her face deepened in colour. She honestly thought that she could not possibly, any chance in hell, feel any worse. It wasn't anyone's fault, but it was still incredibly embarrassing. She wondered if Master Yoda thought that he was dealing with clowns or children instead of Jedi. She heard the whirring noises of speeders and other transports in the distance and wished, much in contrast to her earlier thoughts, that she could jump on or in front of one. She heard Yoda take a step forward and she became increasingly tense. She raised her eyes to meet his, but she did not find annoyance there. Rather, to her vast relief, she found warm humour and kindness.

"Maris Brood, we have here hmm?" Yoda asked, looking her over with a cheeky glint in his eye, "Long time since I have seen you, it has been. Grown well, you have."

Maris smiled back at the old Master and her tongue loosened. "Thank you, Master."

"Come in, you should," Yoda continued, gesturing to the both of them, "Warmly greeted, you will be. Needed, you are."

Maris nudged Dum'aat, who stopped looking at his shoes and the both of them bowed again respectfully before following Yoda through the bay doors into one of the great, towering spires. The entrance corridor was beige and black, with many windows streaming the ambery light of the incoming sunset over the walls in bold, yellow-orange rectangles. The floor was tiled and Maris's boots made a clicking noise as she walked behind the Masters as they talked. She did not participate, but instead listened with heightened concentration.

"Told you reasons for coming, Ki-Adi-Mundi has, hmm?" Yoda enquired.

Dum'aat said nothing, but nodded solemnly. Yoda's head bowed a little, which made Maris feel uneasy again.

"Assigned to meet with Master Obi-Wan and his apprentice, you have been," Yoda continued, "His Padawan's age resembles that of Maris most. Know him well, you do, as well."

Dum'aat laughed. "You could say that. It's been many years, though. How is he these days?"

"Very well, he is. Padawan for over ten years, he has had. Very skilled boy, is he. Heard the stories, have you?"

"Yes, I have, but I thought they were only rumours about the boy. Is it really true that they say that he is the one that will bring balance to the Force?"

"Uncertain, we are. But he is different, we are sure. Meet him and Master Obi-Wan soon, you will. Then, your futures discuss, we shall."

Maris raised her eyebrows, fighting the urge to be nosy. Who were these people? They had been around each other for over eighteen years and she had no idea who they were talking about, at all. She felt as if she didn't know her Master, which, considering that she genuinely thought she did, made her feel even worse. She supposed that maybe there were more doors to her Master's soul than she would ever be capable of unlocking, let alone understanding. He was _so_ frustrating sometimes. She wanted to throw the ball bearings she'd had earlier at him, but it was an immature thought and besides, there was no way she would ever have dared- not just because Dum'aat would pay her back twice as much with twice the ease, if not more, but also the fact that she really did care a mountain for him, like she would have for the father she never had.

And what exactly did Master Yoda mean by their futures? Maris pondered the idea for a little while before a cool wave of trepidation following a spark of understanding washed over her uncomfortably.

_We're being tested_, she realised uneasily, _In order to see how good we are. How useful we will be. _

Maris didn't feel comfortable about them performing tricks like Twi'lek slaves, nor did she feel happy about being so abruptly judged. She supposed that times were desperate, but still, it might have been a little nicer had they been introduced to everyone before being sent away or to work, or allowed to have a look around and a day or so to get used to their surroundings. Maris heard Master Raine grunt in front of her and bit her lip. She hoped that he hadn't been listening.

The two Masters remained quiet for the duration of their journey until they reached the council chamber, which was bright and circular even though it was getting dark outside. A cluster of Masters sat on strangely shaped chairs in a circle around the room. Maris imagined being interrogated or punished in such a place and cringed at the idea. In the centre stood a small man with greying hair talking to the intently listening Jedi, but he clapped his hands when he saw the three of them enter. He approached them with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Ah," said the man, "New recruits to our cause, I see?"

Yoda nodded, while Master Raine bowed.

"The honour is ours, your Excellency."

He pulled on a lock of Maris' long black hair sharply, subtly using the Force to warn her about her manners. She bowed then as he did, but not without some contempt. She had been staring at him until then, endlessly examining the man and seeing an awful lot of things which she disliked. She hadn't known that many people in her lifetime so far, granted, but she'd never met anyone who'd given her the particular feeling that this one did. She couldn't help thinking that he was somewhat cold. Somewhat... slimy, like some youngling's conjured creature from an unpleasant dream. She stole herself another look at his face rapidly and faced the floor again.

_Yes_, she thought to herself, _here is a man who pulled the legs off of kreetles as a child. A man who picks his nose and wipes it on anything nearby when he thinks nobody is looking. A man who tattles on his best friend's wife about his cheating, be it a lie or otherwise, so that he can score on the rebound. _

"Rise," the man said. Maris did, fairly happily and met his eyes. He did not respond too much to her doing this, but he shifted a little, letting Maris know that he was not used to being approached as, well, an equal. This made her dislike him even more, but she did not let it show. Instead, she smiled as pleasantly as she could.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your honour," she said to him, warmly. She felt her words tasted like treacle-coated rancor droppings; a creature which, in a year, maybe two, she would come to tame. Had she been able to know this, however, it was doubtful that it would have made the act any easier for her.

The man walked closer to Maris and touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger. His touch wasn't strong or painful in any way, but she detested it all the same. His breath smelt of spices and wine. Rich, exotic things. Pleasurable things for an uncannily powerful man; which, considering the fact that Maris with her lack of experience had judged his character so quickly, was somewhat worrying. However, she did not dwindle her gaze and continued smiling sweetly at him. She felt strong relief when he moved his hand away.

"It seems that Master Secura will have some competition with you around, young Padawan," the man said to her gently.

Knowing who Master Secura was and how she looked meant that Maris did not know how to respond, and she felt exceedingly more uncomfortable because of it. She was not used to compliments, especially from people who she didn't know and she felt that this man was the last person she wished to receive them from. But, as she felt Dum'aat was about to rip out her hair from the strength he was tugging it, she maintained her warm expression.

"I do not deserve such praise, your Excellency."

"Nonsense," he laughed. He then turned away from her, as if that was that, to face Master Yoda.

"Where is Master Kenobi?"

Master Yoda closed his eyes for a moment, as Dum'aat had done before. "Here, he is. Any moment, enter, he will."

Sure enough, Maris heard a scuffling of boots and two Jedi appeared at the door. One of them was bearded, with chestnut coloured hair down to his shoulders. The other was young, with a boyish, handsome face and wore his hair short, with a longer braid charismatic to traditional Padawan dress. Maris immediately started preparing herself for what she was about to say, but when the obvious Master of the pair entered the room and was greeted by the others, the boy did not follow. His eyes locked on her own and they widened in surprise. She wondered for a brief moment if she looked horrible or smelled bad, so she cocked her head in a friendly way to look at him curiously.

To her dismay, he boy did not reciprocate in a friendly way at all. Instead, after a brief moment of staring, his initial shock turned to a look of hatred and disgust. Before Maris or anyone else could say anything to him, he turned around and ran, ignoring the cries of his Master who, after a brief apology to the council and to Maris, ran back out after him; leaving them all in unwholesome confusion.


	5. Chapter 4

Five minutes later, the pair still had not returned. The rendezvous in the room had initially tried their best to ignore the situation, talking and laughing awkwardly to break the uncomfortable atmosphere that had been created, but it had proved very difficult. It was especially so for Maris Brood, who had been silent since the boy gave her the look that he had. She learnt on the wall by the window, both hurting and thinking deeply. Nobody in the room out of courtesy had mentioned as such, but Maris knew that she was the reason, only she, as to why he had left; but for the life of her, she couldn't understand why.

People in the room had tried to talk to her, but Maris was only able to answer briefly due to her disturbing feelings pulling her mind in other directions; skull-splitting rhetorical questions spiralling through her thoughts and riddling her. After the initial few approaches, including a fair few from Dum'aat, the group left her alone. Although her actions would perhaps have been generally considered perhaps rude, the Council seemed to act as if they understood, which Maris appreciated. She played with her hair, staring out of the wide window with a blank expression.

Soon enough, she was beginning to feel more than hurt. She felt... angry. Angry that she had been treated in such a way, when she had done nothing at all. Maris wanted to scream, throw things, cry- things that were unfamiliar for her to feel and, because she _was _feeling them, she felt angrier at him still. Perhaps, had she been more thoughtless then, or, if she had been alone, that flower of emotion within her might have been the beginning of her future blossoming within darkness, but thankfully, Maris had a little more sense to realise the potential of what she was thinking.

_Control your thoughts. Master Raine- or worse, somebody else- will 'hear' you._

Maris had been practicing means of keeping Dum'aat out of her mind ever since, at an early age, she had learned that he could read her thoughts. He didn't always, of course, because it disrespected her privacy; but if she was distressed in some way, or if he felt like annoying her, he did it fairly liberally. She wasn't going behind his back exactly- he had been the one to direct her towards such methods of keeping him out. In any other circumstances, he would have been proud of her. Maris kept that thought in mind when she closed her eyes and focussed.

Blocking him out was a difficult thing to describe. Usually, Maris felt nothing when Raine read her mind, but now she could feel him; like a jabbing finger trying to break through a barrier of clingfilm. It closed around her; an invisible barrier secluding her. Her strength due to her morality was weak, but she did not give up and eventually, she could sense her Master ceasing to try as hard. She smirked a little at the victory and held it there as she opened her eyes, not meeting the confused, hurt ones of her Master.

"Excuse me, sir," Maris asked a nearby Jedi Master who she didn't know, "might I be excused for a few moments? The journey here was rather rough, so I feel a little ill."

The Nautolan Master looked confused for a moment, but then smiled sympathetically at her and gestured towards the door. She smiled gratefully back at him and left, ignoring the inevitable whispers as best she could. Although the kind Master to whom she had spoken was giving brief explanations to the mutterers, Dum'aat was attempting to read her thoughts again, with far more strength than before. She could feel him probing; bruising that barrier that she was trying so hard to hold up. So, she pushed him back.

(_Leave me, Master_)

To her surprise, Dum'aat stopped and she glanced back at him curiously. He looked at her sadly for a moment before turning back to face Master Mundi, who was peering at her with some concern. Maris nodded politely back in response, but went anyway.

There was something she needed to know.

* * *

Master Obi-Wan looked upon his Padawan angrily, panting heavily from the chase from which they had both been engaged in. It had led them to an empty room, usually used for training in the middle of the spire, vacant currently due to the collection of Jedi that he had been caused to abandon so rudely because of Anakin. He regularly got irritated with his pupil, but this was the first time that he could actually remember being furious with him.

"What the _Kessel _are you doing?" Master Kenobi seethed, pointing back behind him, "You have just made_ the_ biggest arse of yourself in front of the Council. Do you know that?"

Even though Obi-Wan's words were fairly quiet, they echoed around the empty room as if there was another person in there with them. Anakin turned to look at his Master, returning his look with an equal amount of anger. He flexed his fingers into his palms, balling them into fists, before releasing them again and repeating the process; his metal hand clicking. He hadn't seen Anakin so uptight before and it both infuriated and perplexed him. After a while of uncomfortable silence, Obi-Wan decided to speak again.

"I haven't seen you this tense since-"

"-we fell into that nest of Gundarks," Anakin replied sombrely, "Yes Master, I know."

"Well, why?" Obi-Wan exploded, the acoustics of the room booming, "I mean, come _on_, Anakin. It's bad enough that you behaved as you did in front of the Council, but embarrassing me in front of both my friend and his Padawan? What kind of atmosphere is that to have? We have to _work_ with them, Anakin, for God's sake!"

Anakin's gaze faltered for a moment, as if he was aghast. For a brief, relieving moment, Obi-Wan thought that he had knocked some sense into him and started to consider coaxing him into coming back upstairs to the Council chamber. Anakin, however, had no intentions of doing so at all and the meaning of his aghast expression dawned upon Obi-Wan as being a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

"I'm not working with them," Anakin said, stubbornly, "I refuse to, Master."

Obi-Wan, at first, could not believe what he had heard; as if it had been announced by a spolied child rather than a potential Jedi Knight.

"I beg your pardon?"

Anakin ignored his Master's tone and came closer to him. The room was so silent that an insect crossing the elegant (if not slightly scratched, due to the lack of time the Jedi had because of the ongoing war) tiles of the room would have been easily audible. Anakin squared up to Obi-Wan defensively and met his angry, confused eyes.

"I won't work with them," Anakin replied, softly, "I can't trust them."

Master Kenobi felt as if he was dreaming and laughed, as if he had figured out that it was all a joke. But when Anakin smiled coldly back, he realised that Anakin's actions were very far from humorous indeed. He wasn't sure which to feel most; ashamed, angry or insulted. He looked into the eyes of his Padawan; as if searching for an answer, but came up with nothing.

"Would you like to give me some indication," asked Obi-Wan, choosing his words very slowly and carefully, "as to _why_ exactly you don't trust a person who has saved my life and come here to fight with us?"

Anakin's eyes narrowed.

"It's not him," he retorted with callous anger, "it's her. I can't understand for the life of me how you can't understand where I'm coming from, Master."

Obi-Wan laughed again and raised his arms in a mock shrug. "Please, Anakin. Do tell me. I'm _very_ confused right now. You don't even _know_ the girl."

"I know enough."

"Go on, Anakin," said Obi-Wan, exasperated, "Tell me what you know. Tell me what has made you both deeply insult and judge someone whom you have never met, nor spoken to. Perhaps then I'll understand."

Now it was Anakin's turn to laugh.

"I can't believe you, Master," he said angrily, "How can possibly consider trusting her when your own Master was _murdered _by one of her people?"

For a few moments, Obi-Wan was stunned at his Padawan beyond words. He gaped at him, as if Anakin Skywalker had disappeared and his place had been taken by a piece of fruit with a braid. He _felt _as if that was what he was dealing with.

"Anakin," he said gently, trying very hard to calm him down, "you can't just decide you can't _trust_ somebody because a member of her _species _committed something terrible. Do you honestly think that Qui-Gon-Jinn would have wanted you to take on that point of view?"

"She's a _ZABRAK!_" Anakin spat, furiously.

The remark rang around the room like a blaster shot in all of its fury, but Anakin didn't care who heard. The childhood trauma in his mind was so seething and horrific because of the loss he had suffered that he felt no guilt at all. It wasn't personal to her- he had distrusted Eeth Koth just as much since he lost his old Master, but he was rarely around. Had he been, Obi-Wan would have known and done something far sooner, but by then it was almost too late. The damage had been engraved into Anakin's mind.

Anakin turned to go elsewhere, leaving his Master behind with a look of horror on his face.

"Tell them I'm sick, Master," He said over his shoulder, "I'm not going back up there with her. She's nothing but trouble."

When Anakin left, he passed a storeroom to his left. His footsteps covered the noise, but if he had slowed or stopped, he would have realised that his philosophical reasons for not wishing to return to the Council chamber would have been rather invalid, because Maris was in there, not upstairs. Determined to find out what was wrong, she had eavesdropped on over half of the conversation in every single excruciating little detail and wounding word. She had fought her tears for a little while as best she could, but they had come anyway beyond her will.

Crouched in the darkness, Maris Brood sobbed quietly in misery; the first buds of darkness in her heart beginning to form.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about taking ages to update- been amazingly busy XD**


	6. Chapter 5

Later that evening, past the afternoon's earlier 'unpleasantries'; a meeting was held in the Council chamber, of a much more private nature and severe concern. The meeting was between the three revered Masters; two of them legends that would go down as the greatest heroes in galactic history. The meeting was not discussed amongst the other members of the council, for reasons of segregating unnecessary panic before it ran amok amongst the best of the Jedi warriors that the Republic had as defence in this war.

After all; Anakin was infamous – and so very loved. Morale was as low as ever, so it was easy to recognise such reasoning of keeping such a large 'flaw' in the logic of the so-called 'Chosen One' who would bring balance to the Force.

Why, so many of them, especially the younglings would lose hope; which was a risk that the three Masters were not willing in any means to take. The three of them; Master Kenobi, Master Raine and Master Yoda, stood together in the dim council chamber; faces as stern as steel.

Night-time in Coruscant, however; was a contradiction to the lack of liveliness that the chamber held due to the current spirits of its three comely residents. The skyline; wonderfully bright on the horizon; scattered diamond rays into the semi-gloom of the chamber in an enthralling light-cloud which haloed them. Speeders buzzed and hummed some distance away; making noises like Felucian insects; interrupted by occasional loud commercials booming across the night sky.

Often, Obi-Wan would look out into this world; beautiful despite its lack of green in a sort of perplexing way, and wonder how it could be that such tiny particles, which make creatures, species and grand architecture like the many examples in Coruscant; were all that this world (and every other) was reduced to. He would often think, in a more reasoned sort of way; of how silly it was to devalue such things and how it was the Force which made things beautiful, in the eyes of all able to see or experience. A warm feeling often followed at his interpretation and he would smile.

However, Obi-Wan, like the other Masters, was not enjoying the skyline tonight; or thinking about any sort of majesty or wonder that it brought him in thoughts. Anakin had spoiled any chance of that happening, for a long while, at least; as he fretted over the current, confusing nature of his naive, sometimes rather bratty Padawan.

"We must do something," Master Raine spoke, out of the uncomfortable quiet. His voice was low; somewhat sad. An awful twang of guilt and shame rose up in Master Kenobi's middle; where it dissolved into a low, throbbing resentment towards his Padawan. He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing; whilst pulling his emotions back to a sense of greyed neutrality, where they belonged.

After all; now was not the time for irritation. The time now called for acceptable thought and reasoning in order to find resolve for someone, although stubborn and presumptuous, that he cared for – and he knew full well that he was not alone in his admiration of Anakin.

"What can we do?" Obi-Wan asked, in a dreary, defeated sort of way. "He's so damned stubborn, that it's completely unreal."

Master Raine flinched a little at Obi-Wan's words – making him feel worse. Although it was the case and it was doing no favours to either of them; he had far too much respect for Master Raine to consider lying, or withholding any sort of truth from him.

In reality, Obi-Wan's words had made Dum'aat flinch because they were a confirmation of his fears towards the boy. From the few communications from the Council that had arrived on the Gray Pilgrim, the one or two that had discussed Anakin had also mentioned his rather fiery attitude and befuddling arrogance at times. Ki-Adi-Mundi; the Master on the end of those communications about Anakin, had smiled and mentioned the wonders of adolescence and Obi-Wan's lenience towards his Padawan that had been the main reasons behind his spoiled nature.

Now, Dum'aat wasn't so sure; but when he had seen Maris' face later that day, he _had_ been certain of something that he'd never before encountered in a Jedi whom he had met; only through hear-say. He knew that Anakin was very, very capable of hate which - considering the role he supposedly had to play in the fate of the Republic - was exceptionally worrying indeed.

Dum'aat thought of his Padawan's expression when he saw her and he felt deep, heartfelt pity. He felt angry as well towards himself; for shielding her so. Sure, that he knew of; Maris was aware of hate. He had seen her encounter it many times; as they fought together on rogue systems to keep spice-dealers or other criminals at bay from the locals who were being threatened by them. The men (and occasional women) cursed them often as they were subdued by Maris and himself.

But Maris had never experienced hate from a person who was meant to be an ally; in a way that was so uncouth and without justice. It was a nature of hate that not only was capable of severely hurting her; but also causing her vast confusion as well. Maris was no child and was much wiser beyond her years than Dum'aat had been at her age; but how was she possibly meant to be able to comprehend such loathing, based upon aspects of her which were not her fault?

Dum'aat had never seen her cry, before. Nor had he ever felt an occasion where reading her thoughts would be not just inappropriate (which he usually understood and respected) but also incredibly cruel. He had not needed to, of course, looking at her; for he had known all along whom she had gone to follow. He had seen her change dramatically that day, indeed. He had seen her broken and devastated; of course, which had been equally as terrible for him to see – and he had seen something recognisable in her eyes which he had never witnessed before, then, as well.

Darkness. Unmissable darkness – and he was terrified about its nature. What would it do to her, in the end, should it grow within her? Would she -?

He dared not think it. She meant far too much to him; as a pupil and a young woman who was like his daughter. But he could not deny that it had been _there_.

But there had been something else too, hadn't there, surely?

Dum'aat had seen her face when she first saw him – and had never quite seen anything like that, either. It was hard to describe now as he tried to think about it; but he could not think of a better word than _glowing_. It had been unmistakeable and it had been – God love her – beautiful. He had not warmed so much towards his Padawan in those moments than he had in a long while, as he looked at her; but at the same time, it was an expression that worried him even more than her growing capability of hate.

It was a very small wonder indeed that she had shoved past him and ran, the way she had. Dum'aat knew she was probably feeling bad about it; as she always did when she released her problems onto others in passive-aggressive ways; but he did not think less of her for it. Instead; he tried very hard to imagine what she had felt, gathering from the brief but nauseating description of the discourse that had gone on from Obi-Wan – and felt rather cold.

Master Yoda glanced up at the two Masters and they knelt down before him; for reasons consisting of an equal mixture of mutual respect and eye contact. He cleared his throat before he began to speak; as he always did before saying something that nobody really wanted to hear. Both of the Masters were aware of this tactic and an uneasy feeling arose to add to the emotions of immense discomfort that they already had.

"Problems with Maris Brood, Anakin Skywalker has," said Yoda, with careful stern, "so more time spend with her, he should."

Both of the other Masters looked horrified at the suggestion and tried to speak at once; but Yoda held up a hand.

"Need him, we do," Yoda continued, his palms pressed together. "Personal to her it may not seem; but personal is always the case with any sort of hate. Young Skywalker such emotions overcome, he must. The source face, shall he."

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek; as Master Raine, unable to hold back from doing so, spoke in an angry tone.

"Master Yoda, my apologies for saying so – but how could doing such a thing possibly cause anything else but pain for Maris Brood? She came here to fight in this war; as I have. Should she not have a choice or say in this before the decisions are made for her?"

Yoda sighed and looked back at him, uneasily.

"Hard decision, this is. Hate, however, Skywalker cannot afford to have. Beyond words, should she comply with this plan, our gratitude towards Maris Brood will be."

Obi-Wan stole a sad glance at Master Raine, who looked convinced but incredibly shaken, before facing Master Yoda again.

"What is the plan, Master, may I ask?"

Yoda took a moment to think and, for a brief few seconds, the room was plunged into an eerie sort of uncomfortable silence between them all. When he returned from the core of his mind, he spoke very slowly and, despite his distinctive idiolect, as clearly as he could.

"Segregated, they must be. Outpost on the planet Saarn there is; in the Outer Rim, away from any major signals. Learn together and train in the high gravity, they shall."

With that, after bowing, the three departed and left whatever thoughts they could behind in that room; but they all brought at least a few frustrating concepts with them.

Perhaps the most disturbing was a thought of Master Raine's; one which he would never had dared voice in front of anyone; much less the two Masters whose company he had shared. He was sorry that circumstances had not been happier; for it had been (initially) wonderfully pleasant seeing them both.

_He may feel_, thought Master Raine as he stepped through the ornate doorway, _that he despises Maris and her race; as she may feel hurt and saddened by the way he has treated her_. _One can only hope that their abilities to care can overcome the darkness in both their hearts; for it is not simply one of them who needs the other's help._

_They need each _other_._

_

* * *

_**A/N: So the plot thickens... XD Hope you enjoyed this! Sorry it's taken me so ludicrously long to update; but I've had exams :']**_  
_


	7. Chapter 6

Maris Brood was alone in the room she had been allocated when Master Raine walked in. She knew it was him, because of the hairy pad his feet always made. However, she did not turn to face him and remained huddled in the position she had been for the last couple of hours. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. The thought of eating made her ill.

The soft footsteps edged closer toward her and Maris was raised up a little as the mattress sagged when Dum'aat sat down beside her. She would usually have made a comment about him having 'eaten too much cracknel before his mains'. Right now, however, she sure as hell wasn't in the mood to see him; much less make any sort of lighthearted jokes.

"I have to tell you something," Master Raine said out of the uncomfortable silence after a few moments, "but you aren't going to like it one bit."

Maris turned around to face Master Raine; her pale face stiff from tears. His tone had been elusive; careful –and his expression reflected the same. However, Maris sensed it was not due to him wishing to be tentative about her current state. She suspected that the reason for it lay only on the surface of the words he had chosen - and she disliked that largely. Discussions with Master Raine, in the past, had rarely been a serious thing between them both. This was the first time that Maris knew that he had truly been hiding something from her.

"Go ahead," she replied; her voice thick and acrid. "It's not possible that anything you have to say could make my day worse, Master."

At her words; Maris saw his face drop even the obscure expression he'd had upon entry and upon the canvas, a terrible sadness and guilt crept over it; conveyed through a medium of wrinkled skin. It did not take much for her to realise that the impossible was about to be made possible and for the first time that evening, she truly felt like laughing.

Or, crying again.

She'd spent the last while doing that and staring out of her window into the scene of the night. The view was better from the higher storey of the Council chamber; which ironically, Dum'aat had failed to appreciate earlier. Maris had not really encountered anything like it before and she had spent, in order to take her mind off her current dejection; time coming up with poetic terms to describe the sight she saw. All in all, it was an interesting combination; tear-jerking and ode-inventing.

A little sad? Oh yes.

Understandable? Maybe.

Did it work? Not really – but in all fairness, she could (not that she ever had) have dosed ten grams of glitterstim and not have felt anything. Not much was working right now.

"Please Master," Maris continued after a few moments. "Don't hesitate on my account. We all have to know things sooner or later that we don't want to, right?"

Master Raine took a very deep breath.

"We're sending you away on a mission to Saarn. Little is known about it, or what happened to the inhabitants at the outpost that was once there. It is a planet with higher gravity than normal; so it is a beneficial world for training."

Oh, here came the thoughts again. Wonderful. She felt she was just starting to get a little distracted as well.

_Damn, Brood, they're sick of you already_-

"Skywalker is going with you."

Silence.

At first, Maris thought she hadn't heard right. She thought over his words in those awkward thirty seconds; rearranging them, trying to make them sound like something else, giving up and failing. No, she was pretty sure he'd said what she thought he had; but like most individuals do when they're shocked, she asked for reiteration regardless.

"What?"

"I don't like it either," Dum'aat sighed, unhappily. "I also hate being the bearer of bad news."

Maris felt an internal twinge. Was it anger? Was it confusion? She wasn't sure and didn't care. What she felt now wasn't going to change the outcome of what was going to happen. Master Raine had made that fact exceptionally clear to her.

"It's nice to know how you Masters discuss my future behind my back," Maris retorted sourly – and immediately felt guilty.

"I'm sorry Master," she said, as he opened his mouth to retort, "I didn't mean that."

Master Raine chuckled sadly at her words, and laid one of his hands on her shoulder. Maris wasn't used to him touching her in such a way and it felt weird to her; but far from unpleasant. She felt she could smile up at him and did so, just a little.

"I'm sorry too," he replied quietly. "You know I don't like keeping things from you. I felt bad about it the entire meeting, I promise. Trust me; I didn't suggest or recommend this, at all."

A cold memory from the argument between Skywalker and Obi-Wan crept from the depths of the confused plasma of Maris' brain and she broke down. It was humiliating-

(_She's nothing but trouble_)

-but she couldn't help it. She felt like such a sensitive child.

Why was this affecting her so? Surely she'd had worse insults thrown at (or about) her. Maris didn't quite know why, but she felt frustrated by what had happened and more than a little insecure about herself after what she had heard. What was worse; she knew that hate was wrong and it was wrong to hate - so why had the young Padawan expressed it so freely, with such blatant disregard for his Master, or others?

She wanted to feel hate back for him; for the insults and the ill treatment that he had expressed whilst not a single word had passed between them. But she did not, could not, would not – and it made her feel extremely uneasy. She was not entirely sure it was all due to self-righteousness.

She did not want to think anymore. Better to ask questions.

"How long for, Master?"

"However long it takes."

Maris wasn't sure what he meant, but she thought of daily insults from Anakin and swallowed a growing lump in her throat. It was probably best she didn't know. She sighed and composed herself, an eye mindlessly swivelling toward the two shoto sabres she used; lying dormant on a small table on the other side of the room. They had tasted a lot of flesh; often rotten, always wicked – and they sang to her of blood and war. She had a brief, wicked little thought of Skywalker with another metal hand (she'd heard the click it made earlier), and immediately began to feel better.

_Why should you try to make things easy for him?_

"Who will be coming with us on the mission?" Maris asked, sitting up; knowing the answer already. Her words felt unintentionally thick in her mouth.

"It will be just you and him," Master Raine replied, dryly. "I could make up some lie about how we need to refrain from using as many people as possible for the cause of war, or something else along those lines; but I think I've kept enough from you today."

"Why, then?"

Master Raine took another moment to choose his words carefully, before he spoke again. A cleaning droid droned along the outside hallway and paused to look into their room. It noticed Maris was staring at it and rolled away as fast as possible; but Maris scowled at the place it had been regardless.

"I'm not... really sure," Master Raine replied, earnestly. "I wish I could tell you the Grand Master's reasoning for it; by taking such drastic measures as a resolution. What I can gather is that, as you're aware, the Force has plans for him – and he is a rather disturbed child."

Maris snorted a little in sarcastic humour; but not unkindly.

"So when do me and the 'Chosen One' leave for this mission?"

"First thing tomorrow. You'll need to back your things tonight."

Dum'aat got up, and turned to her with a smile. It was about all he could really give her.

"I'm across the hall if you need anything."

When he left, Maris' stomach began to cramp, but that was alright. It wasn't like she was going to be sleeping that night, anyway.

* * *

Anakin, as predicted, was not being very compliant with the news of how he was about to spend his next indefinite while.

"I won't do it."

Obi-Wan sighed; burying his face in his hands. Anakin paced up and down in front of him, as if _he_ was the one being surveyed. His Padawan's stance was aggressive and firm; his own, haggard and tired. Obi-Wan was in no means old (his thirty-fifth birthday hadn't been that long ago), but his Padawan seemed to have a habit of draining the life out of him through stress.

"I can't believe," Anakin continued furiously, "that you could possibly have thought that it was reasonable to discuss such things without me knowing, Master. What_ right_ do you have?"

Obi-Wan's breath seized in his throat with anger – and Anakin realised he'd gone too far. Obi-Wan stood up slowly and met Anakin's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was very soft; but nonetheless dangerous.

"Yoda seems to think it would be good for you, Anakin," Master Kenobi replied, coldly. "It makes me wonder, actually. You accused me, very readily just then, of going behind your back; but I know less and less about you, every day – like this, for instance. I'm curious if there's anything else you're not telling me about yourself."

Anakin could not speak, so Obi-Wan, after a few moments, smiled and did it for him.

"I thought as much. I won't ask, but remember this. I care about you, as do many others – and an awful lot of people depend on you. If you lie to me, you lie to them – and, in the end, it will come back to haunt you. I'm disappointed in you, Anakin, but I'm not surprised."

"I'm sorry that I can't live up to my Master's standards," retorted Anakin, dryly feigning offence, to which Obi-Wan chuckled.

"You may think, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, almost cheerfully, "that you're an incredibly powerful being with incomparable capabilities and knowledge. I won't deny that you're becoming a powerful warrior – but you have a lot to learn about people."

Anakin scowled at his Master and scuffed the tips of his shoes against the floor. Master Kenobi ignored the look and continued speaking.

"Let this time with Maris Brood serve as a lesson to you. Not just one about people; but one about knowledge. She is being assigned to you as a temporary Padawan – so you are to teach her what you know while you both are on Saarn."

Anakin smiled at the interesting turn of events. Command of that wretched creature? That didn't sound like such a bad thing; but he would still much rather evade the whole situation.

"But I am a Padawan, Master," he explained, his voice gaining an innocent edge. "How could I possibly be allowed to teach... her?"

"I thought you'd ask that," Obi wan replied. "It's quite simple, actually; similar to the situation at hand when Qui-Gon took you in as a 'second' Padawan. Truth is, Anakin; I have little more to teach you. It is doubtless that you will be knighted soon; probably most likely when you come back, so the Council has made an exception in this case."

Anakin sat down, grumpily; but Obi-Wan ignored that too, though he did smile at him.

"Besides," Master Kenobi continued, "I thought you'd like the challenge of sharing your knowledge with someone who knows little of our ways."

This of course, was not true, but when Obi-Wan saw his Padawan's face light up, he knew he'd chosen the right words. Yes, feed his ego. Feed his ego; so he complied. He pitied Maris immensely and felt guilty about what he'd said, but it was by far with the best intentions of having them cooperate as best as possible. If Anakin thought that Maris Brood was ignorant, then his opinion about her being deceptive could not hold; for the stupid cannot plot effectively. He smiled at himself and hoped that Maris would teach Anakin a thing or two about the meaning of ignorance.

_Oh yes_, thought Obi-Wan, _you're in for a surprise, Anakin_.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for your nice reviews ^^ Hope you enjoyed this chapter; though things will start heating up a bit more soon :)**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: As a warning to you all, this chapter contains some mature content, so skip that if you're not cool with it :)  
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**P.S. I know Maris' eye colour and hair are different than what I've described, but it's relevant, I promise - and it works out by the end!**

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* * *

**It is well known across the galaxy that the planet Naboo is known for making some of the best starships for interstellar travel. They are not usually designed for fighting; a reflection of the desire of the citizens of Naboo for diplomacy rather than violence, but this aspect is well-compensated by their incomparable design. Although lightweight, the majority of Nubian ships are made of incredibly durable materials; able to withstand reasonable heat and pressure, with, should that not be enough, powerful energy shields.

One of these ships, a particularly well known one which its previous owner was still very partial to, was chosen for the mission. Padmé; being still in high favour with the current Nubian Queen due to her constructive political past history on Naboo, had done Anakin and Maris a great honour by convincing her to lend them the J-type 327; as it was rarely used, with the current Queen having a preference for J-type barges for (rather rare) diplomatic missions. Thankfully for them, as Padmé had been travelling with her on _such_ a diplomatic mission; she was able to explain the situation the next day - and the Queen had insisted. Padmé had felt somewhat out of line with such a request, but Queen had stated that she was on an extended visit anyway – so, it would be no problem.

Maris Brood did not yet know this; but it made little difference to her, really. After all, to her, the people made the place. She splashed her face with cold water from the tap in the 'fresher next to her room and looked at herself in the mirror. She was finding sleep as difficult as she had anticipated, if not more so. It certainly was reflecting back in her face. She found it funny that she had actually managed to look more ghost-like than usual.

Considering that the planet Saarn had higher gravity than normal, the Pilgrim; due to its heavy, cumbersome frame; could not be used, as, for it to achieve the required escape velocity when they came to leave the planet, far too much fuel would be required. In addition to this; it was being refurbished, so it could regain the glorious status of the academy it had been. Maris Brood had not always been the only student on the Pilgrim; but, as the tides of war had been so diminished across the galaxy until quite recently (as well as their considerable segregation), most Padawan preferred training in the Temple; as it was an easier option. As a consequence of this, she had not trained with another, excepting her Master, since she was about six years old. The last one had been a Corellian girl several years older than she called Mesa Del'Auba. Maris did not remember much about her; except that she was somewhat absent minded and, despite being talented, had left to become a bounty hunter to tide her spice addiction, which she had kept hidden from Master Raine for a fair while until her secret departure on one of the ship's escape pods; leaving only a note behind speaking of her apologies and future plans.

Maris wondered to herself with a curious smirk why she had thought of Mesa, after all these years. She had disliked her for a long time, after the way she had treated Master Raine; considering that he had taken her in as a delinquent youth. It was amusing to her now that she felt herself being more understanding towards her – maybe even giving her some credit. Mesa had been strong enough to act independently; away from the constraints of conventions and expectations. To an extent, Master Raine had understood that when she had left; but he had stayed in sad, disappointed silence for a long while.

She wondered in an equally curious way how he would react, if she left – and snorted.

Was she serious?

Of course not; the idea was ridiculous, but regardless of that fact, Maris still sighed and felt herself wanting it. She did not want to go on this journey, at all. Running away from her problems would be easy enough, but coming back to the damage she'd caused? It wasn't worth it. She cared far too much about Master Raine to do such a thing to him – and an awful lot of people were counting on her.

Besides, regardless of his behaviour and the impending awkwardness of the next while; she wanted to see what the Skywalker kid was capable of.

Maris grinned at the mirror at the idea; feeling pretty stupid for doing so, but still not caring. Her eyes reflected back at her through the gloom; amethyst gemstones in a face pale as snow. One pupil was elongated; with a dark birthmark which appeared to stretch it out into the bounds of her iris. They looked richer in this light; the red marks under her eyes deepening their colour. Her hair fell around her face; long and dark – but not quite thick enough to cover the horns on her head, which still protruded through the black in small, reddish spikes.

Yes, she looked like a ghost; which was fitting really, because she certainly _felt_ like a ghost. She felt like a person who wasn't quite there; who nobody could hear – and who was terribly, irrevocably alone.

* * *

In reference to Obi-Wan's earlier comment about secrecy; Padmé Amidala was certainly one of the more serious shadows which Anakin carried around with him, but a lovely one, nonetheless. Anakin's aforementioned charming 'secret', as a matter of fact, had been there to surprise him when he had returned home, sullen, that evening.

Anakin didn't want their case to be so, though. In any other circumstances, his Master would have been delighted for them both; but Anakin knew that said reaction, as long as he was a Jedi, could never be. He did not like keeping things from his Master; but his anger at the fact that he had been suspected of such treachery was doing an excellent job of befouling his mood.

He was angry at his Master and the Council – but he was also furious with Maris Brood. The thought of her made his insides churn and flop with vehemence. She had entered his life; if only barely – and he was now being forced away with her, away from the woman he loved; when time was already sparse enough between them. The thought enraged and frustrated him to no end, and he felt a dreadful urge to open the balcony windows in the apartment he shared with his wife and yell out into the night until his throat was raw.

Why was she there, that ignorant creature; that inconvenience – that annoying little blister on the side of his mouth; which would heal and go away if only he would stop tonguing it? Surely she couldn't be much use to them, in this war?

How could she possibly know of suffering?

"Anakin..." Padmé started, worriedly; cutting through his thoughts.

"What?"

Maybe he said that a bit too sharply. After all, none of this was her fault. At least she had offered, when they had spoken of Anakin's forthcomings earlier, of supplying him with means of making the trip slightly more tolerable. Surely he should be more thankful for that?

"Sorry," he said, more kindly. "What is it?"

His wife sighed, twirling a cinnamon curl between her fingers. Anakin loved it when she did that – it made her look adorably coy and girlish.

"I don't know..." she replied, sighing, looking up at him. "Never mind. I guess... it's just that you're quiet, is all."

"I was thinking."

"Right now?"

He smiled, the sulky tone her voice made awakening him a little more from his temporary catatonia. He watched her fingers, fiddling with the silky strand; looping and twisting around her index like an exquisite vine – and his tongue crept into the corner of his mouth. Her scent was wonderful; a delicate musk of honey and blossoms – and it was all he could do but to close his eyes and inhale, absorbing its beauty.

"Bad habit," he replied, aloofly.

At the time of the conversation, which took place in the early hours of the morning before Anakin's departure, they were both in bed. They lay together, fitting closely; their recent lovemaking leaving their skin warm and slightly slick. Anakin's arm held her to him tightly; in a way that could be considered as somewhat romantic, but, in a somewhat dark, converse way; it acted almost as a bind of ownership; exhibiting the insecurities left behind due to his recent (or probably ongoing) pubescence. Padmé knew this quite well and although she used to find it a little uncomfortable, she was finding it easier, the more she came to understand him, to see it as simply flattering. Another example of this was how Anakin talked about her like she was his possession; but, again, she knew that he meant it with no disrespect. She didn't mention it because he took offence easily – and she disliked fighting with him when she didn't get to see him much.

And, after all, she did love him dearly.

"You have a lot of bad habits," she teased him playfully, turning around to face him. Anakin smiled back at her and stroked the skin of her jaw, gently. It amazed him that every time he looked at her, he found her more and more beautiful than before. In a lot of ways, it was senseless to him how that could be – but he nonetheless found it one of the many perplexing things that thrilled him about her.

"Name one," he said huskily, his eyes on hers. They darkened with hunger and, before Padmé could reply, his hand had slid down from the her back to between her thighs. He met her eagerly and she cried out; two of his fingers sliding inside her.

"How about," he murmured to her, his lips by her ear, "you focus on my 'good habits' for the time being, Senator – and come for me as loudly as you can, hmm?"

With some amount of insatiable whining and begging, she did; with a loud cry that rung throughout the room – and Anakin felt extremely satisfied with himself. When it came to his turn in their exchanges of pleasure, he gave her the power he loved to do so; which she used with passionate, yet polished merit, but he held on. He wanted to make love to her again too much to be selfish. It was hard, though; because she knew how he 'worked' very, very well.

It was different this time; when he pulled her on top of him and impaled her, with a low grunt. The pleasure and the passion were still there, of course – but something else in the back of his mind wouldn't cease. Padmé had said to him that he had a lot of bad habits – and it occurred to him now that keeping secrets certainly seemed to be one of them. He privately cursed his Master as he held his wife to him; their bodies quickening.

Near the end of the act, just before he let her take him; he looked around the room, another strange thought surfacing. The room was free of mirrors; as Padmé felt that they were invasive of their privacy in some way. He had laughed at that at the time, although complying with her wish – but he could see what she meant, now. There _were_ no mirrors, but the fact that his Master suspected what was going on made him feel as if he could see their act of love, fucking; whatever he chose to name it, reflected on every surface; surrounding them in an echoing chasm of bare flesh and cries – as a pair of sad, blue eyes watched from a slot in the wall.


	9. Chapter 8

The unlikely duo of Maris Brood and Anakin Skywalker departed just after noon; not long after Padmé Amidala had gotten clearance from the Queen for using the J-type 327. It awaited them; a platinum phantom in one of the docking bays in the inner city, reserved for guests of honour. They did not arrive together; preferring to travel alone with people they cared for. Maris had travelled with her Master; using one of the Temple's transport speeders. Anakin, on the other hand, had taken his personal transport and had travelled with both his wife and Obi-Wan.

Their journeys had both had the common elements of being uncannily quiet, but ironically; short and smooth; with the common consensus of a desire for a pre-emptive disaster to prevent all this. Maris knew such a thing was never going to happen; so she tried to look to the forthcoming events as having some relation to the will of the Force. Thinking of it that way, to her, made better sense and she saw Master Raine smile at her as she pondered. She was astonished to feel how much it meant to her that he was proud of her and it touched her.

However when Maris and Anakin finally met in the docking bay, they did not need words to express their personal distastes. It was a very short glance they shared; perhaps to see if any sort of recognition or acceptance could be found in the other, but both of them turned back to their loved ones feeling equally hollow and doubly uncomfortable.

Anakin could not show any affection towards his wife in public for rather obvious reasons, which was possibly the most tormenting thing in the world to the both of them. Padmé had once, not long ago, considered that such an aspect of their relationship was too much to bother having anything between them at all. Now; as her young lover bent down to kiss her hand in highest honour whilst murmuring words of nostalgia concerning their 'friendship' and his regret for not being able to stay; she felt herself (a very small part, mind) regretting not making that decision. Obi-Wan watched as Anakin did so with a warning look – but he said nothing and made no comments.

It was far too late now. Padmé knew that she had made her place, her choice. She would lie in it, with her husband – as she had last night. She dismissed his comments, as she did with so many others, with her authoritative smile, nod and blessing – and, as she did so, Anakin felt a maddening desire to kiss her. He looked at Obi-Wan, who glanced back at him; a permanent disappointment on his face. Anakin bowed to his Master, who also stooped down, which, to outsiders, looked like a bow of mutual respect. In reality, however; he had done it to deliver a message to his Padawan – an important one, which he often gave in affectionate humour; but, it was sincerely meant this time.

"This will take much less time if you learn quickly, Anakin," Obi-Wan muttered, "so please, don't do anything rash. If not for yourself; then for the people who care about you."

Anakin grunted in feigned appreciation and stepped aboard the runway of the ship; not looking back. Watching him made Padmé feel oddly sick to her stomach, even though she cared for him. If someone, however, had asked her so; whether Anakin Skywalker was a ticking bomb, ready to explode and splatter the blood of the people the Force had chosen; along with many others, on the walls of the bleak fortress that would come to house his future; she would have denied it instantly – and, it would not have been a lie.

Padmé looked over at Padawan Brood – her eyes widening a little. Anakin had not gone into great detail, the previous night; as to why he and Maris were being sent on such a journey together – only stating that it was the orders of the Council. If Anakin had avoided details of the reasons for his departure (especially has he had not looked back at her, one last time) then it was reasonable for her to assume that he did not want her to know. Padmé had been jealous last night of the girl; before realising that fact. Now, as she looked into the girl's young, forlorn features – she did not feel that way anymore, as much. Padmé wondered uneasily the reasons for it – and the feeling of nausea grew stronger in her belly.

_She's so pretty_, Padmé thought, miserably. _Such a pretty girl shouldn't look as sad as she does. Oh God, Anakin – what's going on?_

Maris Brood, indifferent to Padmé's staring; watched him enter and the same sinking feeling she'd had several times since she'd been here coming back in spades. She had been mainly quiet until now, due to her nervousness, utter exhaustion and her pre-nightly insomnia. Her Master had been quite understanding of that and had nurtured her flat feelings into something more dimensional to the best of his ability; though what was there was still an entity that was suppressed, benign even. She was certainly, however, in no mood for long periods of extended silence.

Maris; in an odd moment of spontaneity, decided to throw away usual conventions between herself and her Master – and hugged him, hard; taking him, for a moment by surprise. It was only when she heard her resounding sobs when he hugged her back with equal strength and care. She looked back at him; her eyes red ringed and wide – and Dum'aat fought the urge to join her. This choice – which Maris had been dragged into, was one of the most difficult and painful things he'd had to endure since he could remember. For Anakin Skywalker; who was used to not seeing much of the ones he loved, three months was little more than a sad inconvenience. Dum'aat Raine and Maris had known, day in, day out; nothing _but_ each other for near enough the past two decades – and they had never been apart more than a few hours at a time. A few weeks amounted to _thousands_ of hours – and, in their own modest ways, they both felt secretly ashamed of their reliance on each other.

But he did not cry. Not because he was incapable, or cold – but because he wanted to show his Padawan that it was possible to remain strong.

"I'm afraid, Master," she whimpered, a pearly incisor clamping down her quivering bottom lip. "I don't like to admit it and I want to be strong – but I am afraid."

"You must be strong, Maris," he comforted her; with as much sympathy as he could give. "You are powerful – and I have taught you well. There is no shame in being who you are and fighting for what you believe in. Let him know that, or let him be Kesseled."

Dum'aat looked around consciously, but nobody had heard him. Maris laughed gently at the coarseness of her Master's language and good humour; feeling happy, but yet awful at the same time. She remembered briefly of her thoughts the previous night about him and regretted them terribly. It was nearly amusing how wrong she had been.

"I will miss you, Master," she said, sombrely. Dum'aat's vision fogged, and his throat felt dry. He swallowed hard before he spoke again.

"And I will miss you, Maris," he replied shakily, reaching up to touch her face.

* * *

When Coruscant fades on the horizon of infinity; it is said that it resembles a bright jewel of infinite colour and brilliance. Such a description is, to most, somewhat accurate; as, after all, the planet takes its name from corusca gems; the rarest and most beautiful naturally-occurring minerals in the galaxy and, to some fanatics, possibly the universe itself.

Many however, are not sad to see the jewel losing its shine; as (which a Physicist in any galaxy, as they share the same, undeniable features in their field, would say) the inverse square law takes its toll on even the unnatural lighting of the city-planet. Coruscant, like many major cities everywhere, is nice to visit – but equally, if not more so, nice to leave. Sure, one leaves behind the architecture when they exit, as well as the endless possibilities of socialising with the 'interesting' in the galaxy's widest selection of bars and clubs; but they also leave behind the smog, the traffic and the tremendous crime rate.

Anakin felt this, sitting up in the cockpit as he flew – but not Maris Brood. As she sat, alone in one of the ship's 'lounge' rooms in the crew's quarters for, ironically, socialising and watched the ember burn out; she felt a pining for it; to still meet the people she hadn't yet met, to explore the places she had not yet been. Being around so many people like her had been quite (although it had been brief and somewhat ruined) magical and, one taste was not enough to satisfy.

Would she be able to talk to anyone after this, at all?

Neither of them, however knew much about where they were going. Nobody did, really; only that Saarn was a macro-g, grassy planet that had been noted in the archives, but rarely explored; as it was so out of range. The expedition there had been very short and brief; with the people taking little time to note much about it. The only real information they had on it had been hear-say a while back from those who had come back from the expedition.

Or, what was left of them.

* * *

**A/N: So they're finally off to Saarn! Sorry the chapter's a little shorter - it's for drama, honestly XD**


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